The Echo
by Miz Thang
Summary: All Harry had wanted, had desired, had been him.


**Title: **The Echo  
**Author:** Miz Thang  
**Characters/Pairing: **Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson, HP/DM, BZ/DG mentioned  
**Rating:** FRM / R  
**Word Count:** 897  
**Warnings:** Slash. Angst. Character death (not Harry or Draco), and something else.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but the little story's idea. Everything else belongs to who it belongs to.  
**Summary**All Harry had wanted, had desired, had been _him_. For** hdangst**'s weekly prompt of jealousy. And, for my **au100** claim of Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy. This is the Big Ass Table.

**Author's Note:** I feel like the Queen of the run-on sentence after looking this over. And somehow, I switched from Harry to Pansy. Hmm.

All Harry had wanted, had desired, had been _him_. Harry had lived _him_, had btreathed _him_, had done everything that he was physically capable of, just to keep him safe. He'd never left, never strayed, never loved anyone else. And did he get any of it in return?

"Draco Malfoy," Blaise Zabini had told him in caution, "is a spoiled brat, and you shouldn't expect anything less from him if you're dense enough to pursue him."

Harry had heard him, yes, and the warning had gone through one ear, only to come out the other, and it had been like Harry had never heard at all.

So, he had pursued the blond Slytherin. Through their last year of Hogwarts, throughout the war, and then even when his side had prevailed and it was time to venture out into the world and be adults. He'd gone after a relationship, and he'd gotten and it, and he'd been do happy to let Zabini see that no, Draco _did_ want to be with him and they'd be happy.

They went to the United States, and to France, and to Italy, and to Japan (because Draco wanted to) and they saw sites, and enjoyed each other and had fun, being free and together and Harry had thought they were in love (he really should've known better).

And hadn't they, been in love, that is? They had said the words often enough. They had said it enough and Harry knew he'd meant it something fierce, but had Draco? Had Draco loved him enough for his entire world to freeze all because he'd lost Harry, like Harry's would if he had to live without Draco?

The vacation had to end, of course, because they still belonged in England, they had lives there, and had to return. Harry had decided long before the war ended, that he wanted no part in the Ministry and that Quidditch seemse like a good idea. And Draco had decided he'd be a privileged lay-about for the rest of his life. It was good that way. Sure Harry had long stays away, with Quidditch practice and games all over the world, but they were fine. They had to be (even if they did fight too often, and Blaise hung around too much).

Life was good, really it was. Life was good – until, one day, after a long practice, Harry had come home and – he was with _him_ – and everything became so muddled after that because Blaise was supposed to wrong and had played him for a _fool_ and Draco was suppposed to love _him_ ( and _only him_) and everything about his life was supposed to finally be okay and _this_ wasn't supposed to happen.

He found himself huddled in a corner, hands clutching his head, eyes slammed shut, crouched low, trying to tell himself that he hadn't done what he had, that it wasn't real, that he'd never do that, that it was some bad dream (because he'd never hurt Draco, and Draco was over there, hurt, and Blaise was) –

All he had done was walk into the apartment and see them playing a game of wizard chess, and Blaise had smiled at Draco. And Harry could tell they were flirting because Draco only acted like that when he was flirting. Maybe Draco was picky and was going to leave Harry – which couldn't happen, because Draco was supposed to be with Harry – and suddenly his head had hurt and his vision had swam, two-toned and red, and couldn't think of anything but making Draco pay for hurting him, for betraying him (though the blond hadn't done a thing yet, it would be no use attempting to rationalize with Harry).

There were two screams, and Harry looked up in time to see Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass-Zabini (having flooed at the slightest disturbance), hurry across the room to where both men were sprawled on the floor. Daphne checked over her husband, only to find him quite lifeless, and Pansy was freaking out similiarly over her friend – it was imposssible to tell what was wrong with him; he wasn't dead, but –

"Draco? Draco! What did he do to you?" She asked the unresponsive body, and then she looked up at Harry, hugging his body close as Daphne firecalled the Ministry, tears drying on her face, and Harry realized what had happened.

"Harry, what the hell did you do?"

Pansy's sobs fell on deaf ears, however, and Harry moved closer to the wall to block them out. But he couldn't (as they echoes in his ear and wouldn't go away not matter how much he wanted them to). He couldn't get rid of them, and he begged her to stop, to fix everything (even as Aurors gathered him away and Draco was apparated to St. Mungo's and she'd stood there, holding Daphne as she mourned her husband).

She'd stared at him, and whispered. "It won't be right ever again, Potter."

She flinched when he told her that she had to do something, that she couldn't just –

She looked at Daphne when Harry was gone, and told her that they should leave, because the room was haunting her, and the events seemed to be echoing in her eyes, in her ears and in her heart, and she couldn't stand the sight of the apartment any longer.

She took the other girls' hand and apparated.


End file.
